New Year's Reflections
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: 3x4x5; Wufei angst on the New Year as he remembers the death of his colony and his new life with Quatre and Trowa.


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New Year's Reflections

Warnings: 345, angst

Disclaimers: Gundam Wing characters belong to Mixx Entertainment, Koichi Tokita, the SOTSU Agency, Sunrise, Kodansha and anyone I may have forgotten, not to me. I make no money off of this.

Other info: A counter prize fic.

Notes: Chinese New Years fall on different dates, and the ceremonies involve red signs painted with lucky sayings, lion dancing accompanied by drums, and fireworks. The New Year celebration is not limited to these things, but these seemed the most pertinent to the story.

Wufei glanced again at the red numbers flashing on the nightstand. Six thirty-two, then thirty-three a second later. He stared back out the window where the sun slowly dipped closer to the horizon. Letting out a mild sigh, he returned to his book.

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Spring rests heavy on treetops

Branches bow under petal clumps

Oval white orange tinged watercolor

Morning dew trapped in leafy buckets

rustled by a sparrow's wing

spills like miniature rain

Unable to force interest in the poem, Wufei closed the book and lay it beside him. Poetry could not hold his attention, not now. He stood and moved to the window and stared out. In a few more minutes the sun would disappear and night would fall completely.

__

Ironic, he thought. _Finally a day off...and no one to spend it with._

Quatre was off on business, but he had no idea where. The blonde had a habit of not giving out details because it might "bore his lovers." Never mind that the not-knowing drove them crazy. And Trowa was off on an unimportant routine mission that really could have waited a few days.

He shook his head. "What's wrong with me? Since when do I mind being alone?"

He hugged his arms around himself and looked at the clock again. Six thirty-three. He watched until the numbers changed once more, then stared out the window again. Hard to believe such a quiet night was the last one of the year. It hadn't been too long ago...just a few years and a few thousand miles...the fireworks, the lucky signs, the lion dancing in the street...the powerful, rhythmic drumming...

If he closed his eyes, he could just see the festival of colors and lights...

...until it dissolved in a final explosion in the night.

Breaking off an unexpected cry, he glanced around to make sure no one had heard him. He let out one raggedy breath. No, he was quite alone. Quite alone.

He had the sudden urge to get out of that room. The walls were suffocating and the ceiling pressed down over him. Not caring if anyone saw, he opened the window and slipped out. His hands trembled as he climbed down the trellis, and the shaking only worsened when he reached the bottom and started walking along the grass. Staring ahead, he spotted the small cluster of cherry trees in the garden. Longing for something familiar, he turned his steps toward them.

It was too early in the year for the blossoms to come out, but at least the red wood was the right color. Wufei stumbled against the first thin tree, sagging to the ground with another sob. He felt cold and hot at once, and intense nausea welled up in him. His eyes stung. Everyone he'd ever known...his entire family...

Resting his head on the trunk, he pulled his knees to his chest and lowered his head. Out of forgotten habit, he released his hair from its strict ponytail and allowed it to fall around his face. Longer than he remembered, the ends brushed past his shoulders. The band slipped from his loose fingers and dropped to the black dirt. How had it grown so long without catching his attention?

He hadn't looked into a mirror for months. Occasionally he'd spot his own reflection, but glimpses were far and few, always in the dark and always beside a vibrant Quatre or a mesmerizing Trowa. Always someone to keep his gaze from himself.

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I'm not worth mirrors.

With his hair down, he was the indifferent student married to an impassioned warrior. With it bound, he was the widower warrior without the scholarly disinterest. He wondered exactly when his personality had flip-flopped. He wondered where his family was. His entire clan.

Solitude was painful, if only for the macabre thoughts it dredged up. Had everything and everyone been instantly vaporized, or had there been pain, fear, moments to feel the concussive force of the explosions, the resultant shrapnel? Time to feel the fires spread? They had died in the middle of their daytime, so children might have been in school or playing in their yards, far from their parents. Had they known, or had it all been one terrifying rush of confusion that ended in an agonizing burst?

__

Why do I have to keep thinking this? He screwed his eyes shut, escaping into a dark nothingness as if he were in Nataku again, staring into empty space. At the residual glow left by what had once existed. _Why must I continue to have these thoughts?_

Friends he had trained with, practiced against...Jianhao, Li Funing, Jia Birong...the names were beginning to blur together as the faces disappeared into one another until his entire clan compressed into one nameless, faceless satellite. Like a single New Year's firework all alone in the night.

"We were descended from dragons," he whispered. _But it wasn't enough._

And how could he say "we" anymore, when it was only "I." And even that was in doubt now. How could he prove he'd even had a clan before? All the records, all the names, all the people who could say they knew him were dust scattered across the stars. Struggling to maintain his honor, and hence his clan's honor, he would nevertheless be an eternal outcast, even more so for his recent choice of romantic relations. Did he even have an identity now? How could expect to see himself in a mirror if there was nothing to reflect?

A drop of moisture hit his hand and he frowned. He wasn't crying. Another drop hit it, then another, and then he found himself caught in a light drizzle. The little cherry grove took on a wonderful scent so familiar his eyes imitated the rain. He remembered sitting outside as the sprinklers came on in the field of flowers, the fragrance of damp soil and grass as they tenaciously hung on to survival, exiled to life in cold space.

But dragons lived in the heavens, didn't they?

So his colony was where it belonged, now and then.

Then why did it hurt so much?

He looked up at the overcast sky. A few stray sparks of lightning crossed the clouds, but it wasn't the same. There were none of the greens and reds and yellows and blues of the fireworks. Only hues of gray and white. Only raindrops striking his eyes.

But he could still imagine the fireworks, the lucky signs, the lion dancing in the street...the powerful, rhythmic drumming...the drumming of bullets against the gundanium of his suit, the earth and trees beside him, whizzing by his body and whistling like fireworks, fireworks that were really exploding clans and a way of life self-detonated in a last spiral of light. Lucky red signs that bled if rain hit them, fortunes turning to curses. Lions dancing, eyes lolling crazily while they shook and jumped into empty space.

The drumming of thunder.

"Wufei?"

Sighing as he moved his sore muscles, he glanced up into soothing green eyes. "Trowa?"

The tall pilot, his face neutral yet still betraying concern if one knew where to look, knelt beside him. "What're you doing out here?" He placed one hand on Wufei's shoulder, rubbing the lacey moisture from his skin. "Granted, you're beautiful when you're wet, but the rain's cold."

"Just...tired," Wufei replied. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to rest on Trowa's arm. "I thought you had a mission."

"I did. It's finished." Trowa spotted the hairband in the dirt and picked it up, slipping it in one pocket. "I didn't want to leave you on New Year's, but it had to be done. I'm sorry." He gave Wufei's shoulder a little squeeze. "Ready to come in? Quatre's home, too."

"Home," Wufei smiled slightly.

Trowa held still, waiting.

"Do you know any of the New Year superstitions?" Wufei suddenly asked.

Surprised, Trowa shook his head.

"The first words heard are important." His onyx eyes rose to meet Trowa's. "They are signs of what the new year will bring."

Understanding completely, Trowa pushed the dark hair from Wufei's face and cupped his hand around his cheek and jaw. "Should I carry you?"

Wufei chuckled and shook his head. "No, I can walk. But I could use a hand up."

Trowa smiled and helped his lover to his feet, keeping one arm around his waist. "A word of warning. The cook is off, so Quatre's making dinner."

Wufei groaned lightly, but he spotted the small blonde in the living room window waving excitedly, and he waved back. "Can we convince him to stick with hot dogs?"

"I thought you hated hot dogs."

"The health hazard is a small price to pay to avoid his kitchen disasters." He leaned hard against Trowa, using him as a make-shift cane. "And I am too tired to deal with a shattered microwave."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Trowa stopped him just before they reached the door. "Maybe I _should_ carry you."

Wufei shook his head. "Just bad memories."

"Would you like to talk about them?"

"No," he said firmly. "It's a new year. I think I should keep focused on the future from now on."

"Just remember we're here, all right?"

Wufei stared up at Trowa, a grateful look on his face. "Forever and ever?"

"Of course."

"Come in, you two!" Quatre broke into their conversation, throwing the door open. "You're getting soaked!"

Mutually agreeing without a word, Trowa and Wufei wrapped Quatre up in a sudden hug that allowed the moisture to seep into his crimson robe.

"Ack! Guys!" Quatre frantically extricated himself and set about pulling Trowa's turtleneck off. "You'd better take those wet clothes off before you catch cold." He eyed Wufei's clothing, not only soaked but muddy as well. "That goes for you too."

Wufei sighed and removed his tank top, but balked when Quatre tried to tug his pants down. "Quatre! Leave those alone!"

Trowa smirked as he started on his own tight jeans, peeling the soggy denim from his long legs. "If I have to do it, so do you."

"I am not going to walk around the house naked!"

"It's all right," Quatre said. "Look, I brought your robes and--naked? You mean you're not wearing anything under those pants?"

Wufei blushed and snatched his black robe from the couch. "Never mind."

Quatre laughed and sat back, not intending to give Wufei any privacy. "It's nothing we haven't seen before."

Wufei merely threw the robe on before removing the rest of his clothing.

"Aw, that's no fun," Quatre teased, giving a fake pout. His face brightened again as another thought hit him. "But anyway, come on, I've got dinner ready!"

"Already?" Trowa wondered, pulling on his blue robe. The embroidered lions on the back seemed to twist around as he moved. "That was fast."

"Of course it's quick," Quatre grinned. "I already knew how to make it, so I didn't need a recipe!"

Exchanging wary glances, Trowa and Wufei followed Quatre into the dining room.

A few hours later, Wufei helped Quatre slip out of his robe, leaving him in royal blue boxers and slippers, both of which he kicked off near the foot of the bed. Trowa, his robe already halfway open, sighed and picked them up.

"You really should learn to pick up after yourself," he scolded, draping the robe neatly over his arm.

Quatre flashed him a cheeky smile and winked as he slipped into the luxurious bed. "But I hate putting it away when I'm so sleepy."

"No," Wufei said, turning off the lights. "You're just spoiled, that's all."

He heard a raspberry in the dark, but merely shrugged it off with a slight smile. Able to see shapes in the shadowy bedroom, he removed his robe and extended one arm to Trowa, who nodded and gave him the other two. Wufei went to the closet, opening it and beginning to hang the robes up one at a time. Behind him, Trowa climbed into bed beside Quatre.

"Trowa!"

"Hush, little one."

"But, I'm sleepy--"

"You're lucky I don't put you over my knee," Trowa responded, followed by the sound of roughhousing beneath the sheets. "You shouldn't expect your lovers to clean up your messes."

"It's not his fault," Wufei said. "He's been surrounded by maids most of his life." About to close the closet door, he turned slightly and spotted his reflection in the mirror on the door. He froze, staring at himself.

Even in the moonlight, he could make out little details in his face and skin. Just a little paler than usual, his face looked smoother than he remembered. Stress lines had faded. His black eyes, still in the familiar upward sweep, were not so harsh or cold as they had been years ago. But they were less vital as well. What they had lost in rage they had gained in grief.

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It is_ longer_, he thought, fingering a lock of hair. The ends easily flowed to his shoulder so that instead of merely framing his face, the black strands actually disappeared behind his back. _I'd best cut it, or else it will look like I'm competing with Duo_.

He stared at himself again. Without Trowa or Quatre beside him to catch his attention, his sight focused directly on his own body. He was a disconcerting sight. His muscles were taut, his physique honed to a martial artist's excellence, but his eyes seemed so old. He was eighteen now, but his gaze was far older than some of the warriors he could remember.

He frowned. How many could he actually remember? Meiran, his master, a few of the elders...the student who had fought with him just before the colony had died...his tutors...his parents...his grandfather...no, that had been the father of a close friend...no, of a student...

He choked back tears. He'd sworn to remember. Remember all of them, keep them fresh in his memory so their honor would never fade as long as he was alive. The courage of an entire clan wrapped up in their last descendant...and now he could hardly recall a handful of them. Their names faded to meaningless syllables of crumbling recorded memory.

"Wufei?" Quatre asked, wondering why he was picking up so many sad emotions from his Asian lover. "Are you all right?"

With a rueful smile, Wufei nodded and closed the closet. "I am fine, little prince." _But my clan is not. My colony is not. And I cannot help them._

He quietly joined his companions in bed, allowing Quatre to curl against him while Trowa slung one long arm over both of them. Wufei couldn't help the lift the bed brought to his spirits. Trowa's hand fell limp after a few minutes and his breathing rose in volume, not annoying but heavy all the same. Quatre never snored, but he had a habit of tossing and turning and this night was no different. He rolled back, using Wufei as a large silk cushion in his drowsy dream state. On an already warm night, the sudden heat was less than ideal for the last of the trio still awake.

But Wufei didn't move. He couldn't bring himself to sleep. His mind had exhausted itself but refused to drift off. Instead he watched his lovers sleep, watched their bodies rise and fall with their deep breaths, watched their unconscious, unguarded movements. A twitch here, a twinge of pain there. Old war wounds flaring up and subsiding into slumber. Old nightmares.

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Forever and ever is such a long time, he thought. _After all, I forget things after only three years._ He looked over Quatre's blonde hair at Trowa, half concealed under his own hair. _But...home...and he does not seem to dwell on the past so much. And Quatre..._

It had taken awhile, but soon after the war, most of the previous Master Winner's portraits had been taken down into storage. Beautiful earth landscapes had replaced every picture, save for one small framed portrait on a mantle in the living room. Gone, but not truly forgotten.

"Father..." Quatre whimpered, breaking him from his musings. With one hand he caressed the pale shoulder lightly, stroking the soft skin without any touch of eroticism and with every bit of concern. The nightmare faded as he reminded Quatre that he was not alone, and the blonde soon fell back into easier dreams.

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I don't like how he dwells on that. It hurts him and there is nothing he can do about it. And the way Trowa bottles his own emotions in is no better. But, he had to admit, _it is the same with both of their feelings toward myself._

They didn't like that he mourned his colony for so long. There was no cruelty or impatience in their regard, only the sick, helpless feeling that came with knowing a loved one is in pain and there is nothing that can fix it. But that only left him with more guilt with the knowledge that he was hurting them as well, which in turn increased their frustration...

__

Perhaps I should think more about my home, my new home, and my new family's feelings, he told himself. _The past is past. Think of the future instead. Think of home._

Gone but not forgotten. So much could be kept in a little photograph, after all. Two tragedies framed in memory and more tangible materials. He closed his eyes to think about the matter, and promptly fell asleep.

The End


End file.
